Recovery
by emmagenel
Summary: After the Battle of Manhattan, Clint Barton is having a tough time adjusting to team life and getting over being possessed by Loki. Follow him as he gets to know the other Avengers and they learn to trust one another.


The sun rose gently over a still smoking Manhattan. The golden beams of early morning light reflected beautifully off of Stark, or rather Avengers, Tower. The aforementioned superheroes were still fast asleep in their designated bedrooms. Although they were spectacular in many ways, they still did need their recovery time. Only one man was conscious to view this perfect start to the day.

Clint Barton balanced gracefully on the rooftop as he stared blankly at the horizon. The dark circles under his eyes could attest to the fact that very little sleep had come his way in the past week. His usually snug clothing fell loosely off his slim frame, and although he vowed to return to the gym, he simply lacked the motivation.

Barton probably needed rest more than anyone at the Tower, but it was not a luxury he was fond of at the moment. Every instant his mind strayed into unconsciousness led to horrible nightmares induced by his appalling slavery to Loki. These terrors caused him to awake a screaming, crying mess in bed. Rather than experience the embarrassment of having one of his teammates discover him in such a compromising state, Clint chose not to sleep.

Instead, he explored the nooks and crannies of the Tower. He had found many secluded areas which he could return to if he needed to get away; however, the roof was his favorite. High above everything else, he would be able to see a threat coming from miles away.

Once the more vibrant colors of the sunrise began to fade into the stereotypical blue of day, Barton began to nod off without something to distract him. Yawning, he clambered down from his perch, not wanting to become a Hawkeye patty on the sidewalk.

As he slouched back to his bedroom to provide the charade that he had, in fact, been asleep all night, he noticed a familiar figure slumped against his door. Drawing closer, he recognized the flaming hair of his partner. Her lithe body was folded gracefully in on itself as she slept. Curious, Barton sat down next to her.

"Morning," he said gruffly as her calculating eyes flickered open.

"Hey," Natasha Romanoff replied, stretching her sore back. Although she had slept in worse conditions, curled in the fetal position on the hard floor was not the most comfortable. "Where were you?" she asked after a peaceful moment of silence.

"The roof," Barton replied simply, leaning his head against the wall. As he blinked, it took a tremendous effort for his eyes to reopen. This small detail did not escape the practiced eyes of his partner.

"Clint, have you slept at all?" she asked in an exasperated voice, clearly already knowing the answer.

He turned his head away from her and scratched his stubbly chin. "I've tried," he offered weakly.

Natasha groaned, shaking her head. "Clint, sleep is a necessity. It's not something you can just opt out of doing."

The lack of sleep and high amount of stress that had ben burdening him for the past few days burst forth. "You just don't get it, okay?"

Romanoff jumped to her feet. "Oh, right, because I've never experienced anything like what you're going through, I'm sure. The Red Room must just be a walk in the park compared to what you're facing!"

"Tasha, I'm sorry, I didn't mean – "

"You did mean it, Clint, but maybe if you would stop wallowing for thirty seconds, you'd realize there's someone right in front of you who is more than capable to help." With that, she stalked off, not even turning back to look at him.

Cursing himself internally, Clint staggered into his room. Maybe Nat was right. Maybe he should try to sleep for a minute… With that thought he collapsed on his bed and was instantly whisked away into unconsciousness.

* * *

Hawkeye was surrounded on a foggy battlefield. Five mighty adversaries, their strong forms no more than shadows, circled him, preparing to strike. Well, he was not about to go down without a fight. Nocking his bow, the hawk flew into action, easily finding the weak points in his enemies' armor. As the kill shot struck, each would fall with a satisfying thud. One, two, three, four. Only one remained, and it was not an easy battle. Hand to hand became essential as the fight dragged on. Finally, Hawkeye was able to lock his hands around the enemy's neck, and with one deft twist, the kill count was up to five.

Suddenly, the haze around him was lifted, and Barton could clearly see the so-called enemies for the first time. Captain America. Iron Man. Thor. Even the Hulk. And clutched in his arms was the still warm body of the Black Widow.

Hawkeye shoved the limp form from his arms and staggered back, appalled at the crimes he had committed. Staring into the glazed eyes of his best friend, his vision began to swim. A mischievous laugh began to echo around him as he collapsed to his knees, unable to handle the gory scene that surrounded him._ My fault. It's my fault…_

* * *

With a jolt, Clint sat up in bed shouting. Once he realized where he was, his brain registered that he was safe, but his body was still in panic mode. His entire frame shook, and sweat beaded on his clammy skin. His breaths were coming in quick, shallow gasps, and he tried to anchor himself to reality. It was only a dream, he told himself over and over in his head. But a little voice kept pointing out how close that nightmare had come to being a reality.

"Hey, Bird Boy, wanna test out some new gear I've got?" Tony Stark swaggered into Barton's room without bothering to knock. If he didn't own the place, Clint would have a serious problem with it. As it was, he turned away in an attempt to hide his bedraggled features.

"Ah… Maybe later. I'm still pretty whooped," Barton offered in what he hoped was a confident voice.

"What? You've been sleeping all day! Natasha finally lets me in here and you won't even hear me out?" Stark pouted pathetically, but Clint was distracted by the fact that the billionaire was on a first name basis with his partner.

"Nat was here? And what time is it?"

"Nah, she just threatened to kill me in a very painful way if I came in here before three. So it is three oh one and here I am! Now, c'mon, me and Bruce have really got something nice set up for you."

With that, Tony grabbed Clint's arm and dragged him to the lab.

The lab was not Barton's favorite place in Avengers Tower, probably due to the fact that it reminded him of SHIELD's medical wing, a place he had become all too familiar with over the years. While Tony and Bruce Banner could spend an eternity in the lab, Clint was itching to get out the moment he stepped in.

Dr. Banner sat at a desk, meticulously copying some notes. It was hard for Barton to rationalize that this seemingly levelheaded scientist was actually the enormous green rage monster that had fought next to him in the Battle of Manhattan. People had secrets, Clint supposed. Himself more than most, probably.

Stark skipped ahead, announcing their presence obnoxiously to Bruce. Barton wondered why that wasn't enough to set the man off. Hell, it was almost enough to set him off, and he wasn't the one adversely affected by gamma radiation.

"Hello, Agent Barton," Bruce said amiably to the uncomfortable agent. His eyes were kind behind the glasses, something Clint was not expecting to see after causing him to Hulk out on the helicarrier.

Barton nodded briskly, not sure how to respond to the man's unwarranted behavior.

"So!" Tony began, clapping his hands and effectively drawing attention to himself. "I know it's not quite Christmas – "

"It's May, Stark."

" – but boy do we have some awesome gifts for you. Hit it Brucey!"

Bruce, looking incredibly uncomfortable at being called "Brucey" in front of another human being, stood up and headed to a storage cabinet in the corner. "Well, after the recent battle, Tony and I were discussing how you can run out of arrows with the quiver you're using, and how that could be disadvantageous during a long term mission. So, we created this." He held out a typical quiver, and Clint took it cautiously.

"Uh… Thanks?" _That's a bright idea_, he thought; _give the guy who tried to kill you all unlimited weaponry of his choice. Brilliant._

"There's a cloning device installed so as long as you have one arrow, you can duplicate it. Cool, huh? Maybe you'll actually be useful on missions now," Tony babbled.

Barton clenched his fists. Bruce sent his partner a sidelong glance, warning him to behave, but he must have missed it or simply pretended not to see it because he plowed on.

"I mean, sure, your shot is super accurate or whatever. Great. But we all know you're really here just to get to see Widow's assets in that cat suit of hers. Let's be honest: who isn't?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

The next thing the billionaire knew, he was lying on his back on the ground with an enraged assassin straddling him.

"Whoa, man!" Tony said with a laugh, holding his hands up in surrender. "I thought Bruce was the one with anger issues."

That was the last straw for Clint. His fists flew as he pummeled every surface of Stark that he could reach. Banner tried to pull the assassin off his lab partner, but without the Other Guy he was no match for the SHIELD agent. Instead, he turned and ran for the door, trying to find Romanoff, the only one who could diffuse the situation.

* * *

Natasha was curled up in her favorite armchair, reading a book in Russian. The chair sat in front of a large window that dominated the wall of her suite, giving her an incredible view of the city. She was just beginning to get lost in the story when a bedraggled scientist tumbled through her door.

"Haven't gotten your land legs back yet, Doc?" she quipped, smirking at Bruce's unsteadiness.

"I think you need to come down to the lab," he panted, ignoring her jab. "Barton…"

He didn't even have to finish his sentence before Romanoff was up and moving quickly toward the labs, all signs of humor gone. "Why didn't you tell Jarvis to call me down? That would have been faster," she asked as the doctor struggled to keep up with her pace.

"I, uh… Forgot. I was panicking," he said sheepishly.

She rolled her eyes for his benefit, but quickened her pace. Anything that could make the zen doctor panicky enough to forget technology could not be good.

She was right. This was far from good. Natasha and Banner stood at the door of the lab, shocked by the scene before them. Tony had somehow gotten in his Iron Man suit and was standing by one wall with his blasters leveled at Barton. Clint stood at the opposite side of the room, his new bow strung tightly with an arrow that was surely pointing to a chink in Stark's armor. Clearly, it was a stalemate.

"I'm just gonna go…" Bruce said awkwardly, backing away so as to not put himself in a potentially volatile situation.

Romanoff stormed forward and stepped between the two men. "Drop it," she demanded.

Both men lowered their weapons, looking warily at the furious redhead between them.

"Stark: suit off. Barton: weapons away."

"Sorry, beauty queen, no can do," Tony said from behind his mask. "Not until Fists of Fury is safely restrained, at least. I don't need any more damage to my beautiful face, thank you very much."

Natasha glared at Clint, who was staring at the ground in shame. When she refused to look away, his blue eyes finally met hers, and he mumbled, "Yeah, I sorta… Lost control." Queue staring in shame again.

Romanoff didn't say anything, which Barton thought was almost worse than her jumping down his throat. Instead, she strode over to him, snatched his weapon, threw it onto a vacant lab bench, and pushed him down onto a chair.

"I've got Barton under control. Now take that damn suit off and tell me what the hell happened or I will tell Pepper on you," she threatened.

Tony took the suit off as quickly as he could (read: very slowly without his robots), and was pale and frightened looking by the time he was free. "Don't tell Peps!" he begged. "She's finally letting me sleep in our room again."

"Why were you – " Clint was silenced when Natasha sent a deadly glare his way, and reminded himself to ask Tony about it later.

"Talk, Stark; you aren't usually so shy," Romanoff prompted.

"Oh, yeah, so me and Bruce made this new quiver for Legolas here so he could be more useful, and then I said some things that could be viewed as distasteful, but I thing they were legit, and he flipped a shit and jumped me and started beating my ass so I put on my suit, and we were at a stand off until you entered," Tony rambled.

"Anything to add, Barton?" Natasha asked coldly.

"I'm… Sorry," he muttered, scuffing his toe on the floor.

"It's cool," Tony claimed as he headed out the door. "You got this under control, Red? I need to go ice my face before there is permanent damage."

When Stark was gone, Natasha turned back to Clint.

"Look, Nat, I – "

"I don't want to hear it, Barton," she interrupted harshly. "I get it, you had a rough run, but beating up every person who rubs you the wrong way is not going to make them trust you. I thought you had more control than this. And before you even think about talking to me, or anyone else for that matter, you have to apologize to Tony. As much of an ass as he is, this is his house, and even though he's going through hell, you don't see him attacking everyone, do you?" Romanoff turned away to avoid the broken face of her partner. "Come find me when you're ready to act like yourself," she commanded before stalking out of the room.

Clint sat where she left him in stunned silence. He must have fucked up pretty bad for Nat to think he'd gone too far. Rubbing a calloused hand over his swollen eyes, Barton resolved to make things right in his partner's eyes. Staggering to his feet, Clint shuffled out of the room to find his host.


End file.
